By Jerome Haller

As I checked in on a Sunday night, the Head Guard sat in the office. He said he’d work at the store during half my shift. That would be much longer than usual. The news concerned me. Perhaps he planned to watch me in action.
About 30 minutes later, a young African-American male stepped past me. His frown and black leather jacket gave him a thuggish appearance.
The Head Guard looked at me and tilted his head toward the visitor. We followed as he walked toward the food section. He stopped and grabbed a box of cookies. I figured we did not have to worry. He could not hide it in his jacket. I walked back to my post. A few minutes later, he paid for the snacks.
I stood by the door and thought about the false alarm. What if the customer had accused the store of racial profiling?

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Posted on November 13, 2009

By Jerome Haller

In order to alleviate the pain of working my crappy job, I’ve started creating nicknames for some of the store’s more obnoxious customers. That provides a bit of levity which helps prevent me from crying or performing a rash act.
The coping mechanism allowed me to survive a recent Saturday night. Four class acts I’ve christened Churros, Coupons, Diapers and Mr. Stinky arrived one after the other.

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Posted on November 12, 2009

By J.J. Tindall

Gleam
I and I buckle at the weight of the load.
I and I suckle at the nape of liberty.
I and I rankle at the prospect of servitude.
I and I cackle at the vehemence of zealotry.
I and I seethe from a locus of pain.
I and I breathe in and breathe out again.
I and I ponder every cloud above the swarm.
I and I wonder if the horse is out the barn.

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Posted on November 10, 2009

By Nick Shreders
Second in a series.
I had the pleasure of entering this hallowed ground after closing on a recent Saturday night. After patronizing the Beachwood Inn for the last couple years, the women’s restroom was the last bastion of uncharted territory. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Armstrong and Aldrin or Lewis and Clark.
Grossness Factor: 1 out of 10.
Contents:
* 1 white plastic bucket underneath sink pipes
* 1 container of generic handsoap
* 1 full length mirror
* 1 picture of Minnie Mouse
* 1 roll toilet paper
* 1 roll hand towels
* 1 sink
* 1 toilet
Ambiance: The women’s restroom is surprisingly clean and lacks graffiti. I don’t recall ever being in a restroom at a bar that did not have some sort of witty statement or someone’s phone number etched on the walls. This adds to the mystery of what it is that women really do when they gather behind closed doors in a restroom.

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Posted on November 9, 2009

By The Beachwood Holiday Messaging Desk
Culled from Texts From Last Night.
*
(513): You tried to wear your Jesus costume into Family Christian stores and say it was a book signing.
*
(252): I had sex with billy mayes last night. HE KEPT IN CHARACTER THE WHOLE TIME.
*
(256): we were dressed as cave people and he kept telling everybody i was so easy a caveman could do it.

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Posted on November 3, 2009

While Barbara Brotman moped.
1. Halsted.

–
2. Going as Twitter.

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Posted on November 2, 2009

By Patty Hunter

I really love it when we band together against the customers. There is no better way to create a sense of unity than to coalesce against the common enemy, which in this case are the douchebags that attempt to make our lives a little less enjoyable.
The other day, a table sat down and almost immediately started trying to flag down anyone who looked like they worked at the restaurant. (They did not wait long at all for their server.) The busser walks by to clean a table and they wave their hands in his face. Dialogue is as follows.
Impatient assholes: “Hey! We’re ready! We want to order!”
Busser: [Not even stopping as he walks by the table] “Okay.”
And he kept walking. They stared, bewildered. I ran away giggling. They totally deserved it.

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Posted on October 29, 2009

By The Beachwood Meetup Affairs Desk
The newest Chicago meetups.
* The Palatine Raw Some Food Meetup Group
* Chicago Desi Moms Playgroup
* Green Business League
* Let girls be girls
* Europeans At Large

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Posted on October 28, 2009

Date: 10/10/09
From: Roscoe Village
To: West Ridge
The Cab: To be blunt, there’s a chronic smell that perfectly suits the grass green interior. You can pot your feet up and toke it easy; you know, hash a good time. No wonder the availability roof light flickers; it’s mood lighting.

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Posted on October 19, 2009

Date: 10/13/09
From: South Loop
To: Little Village
The Cab: White mini-van cab. Pretty clean, neat but worn down leather covers on the first set of seats. The pattern reminded me a bit of black and tan bowling shows.
The Driver: We should have known we were in trouble. The gold jacket and leopard-print denim pants should have given it away. We apparently caught her during lunch as she was working on a tuna sandwich and chips. She had a Jamaican accent, but while she was kicking us out of the cab, it sounded suspiciously less Jamaican.

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Posted on October 16, 2009